


The Ghost

by Shay_Nioum



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Ghost! Logan, Human AU, M/M, ghost au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 19:29:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17668694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shay_Nioum/pseuds/Shay_Nioum
Summary: Logan is an average house spirit, he’s been dwelling in the place that he died for just about as long as he can remember, and that honestly isn’t much. Each day for him bleeds into the next, and his work just goes on and on as he keeps the failing building together with just his spirit alone. He has no idea why he tries to do such a thing, or even why he tries so hard when he can’t even recall his human life and the reason why he feels such a strong emotional connection to this place. He just doesn’t know why, and it drives him crazy sometimes.That's something that changes though, when three new tenants move into the home he's been occupying for as long as he can remember.





	The Ghost

There is a house at the end of old Cane Street. Its shutters are that were once pristine and freshly painted with a dazzling fresh coat of navy blue paint was falling apart, the shutters certainly wouldn’t make it past another rainy season, let alone a slight gust of wind. And the stairs leading up to the old house creaked ominously, as if the very spirit of the wind had infested the wood, moaning and howling with every step taken up to its incredibly ancient looking stain glass door. The golden paint on the outside of the house had chipped away, revealing a muted and faded looking white color underneath, the color of bones that were no longer hidden by the flesh of the living. Weeds clung to the side of the house, crawling upwards and defying gravity as they did, those very same weeds obscured the dirty grime covered windows ensuring that not a single soul could look inside. 

Of course, that wasn’t necessarily the problem with this old house that was steadily falling apart as the years steadily wore it down. Brick by brick, as the very foundation of the house, sank into the muck and rubble surrounding it, bit by bit. 

Not a single soul would touch the house, and not a single person alive would dare to enter it. Be it for renovations, or with the intent to live within the quarts that somehow kept themselves together. Some people claimed that the house was haunted, others said that it was the product of a mass cult activity that had gone on decades prior, while most just insisted that there wasn’t a spot of good luck to be found in that house. That no amount of good luck charms, dream catchers, or exorcisms could ever fix whatever on this green earth had happened in that house. Or to who it had happened to. 

In a way they were entirely correct, no amount of tampering could ever fix what had gone wrong, but that was mostly because it didn’t need fixing. 

Or so the spirit inhabiting thought so.

 

* * *

 

Logan opened his eyes to the sharp sound of a siren piercing the air just outside of his home, the world came back to him in distant waves. First, it was the sound, a very familiar sound if he stretched his mind far enough. The loud obnoxious beeping of a moving truck backing up into someplace, it was a sound that was hard to miss and downright impossible to forget even if he wanted to. The second thing that came back to him was the damp coldness of the air, a feeling that would have clung to his skin, if he had any, to begin with. He could sense it, the cold relentless bite of winter that permeated through the cracked spongy walls of his house, it was something that no amount of sheer willpower could fix, at least not in this afterlife. The third and final thing to come back was his sight, as everything came into focus with an almost startling clarity to it as he peered through the thick clumps of weeds that clung to the window facing the front yard.

It had been years since anyone had trespassed onto his home, but there was definitely no mistaking it. Not one single bit. 

“Movers.” It was only one word, but it dripped with scorn from Logan’s lips as he caught just the slightest glimpse at the obnoxiously orange colored moving van. The backup lights were blarring as the sound of tires crunched the gravel not even five feet away from the porch, not only was there a moving van here...but the people who would be moving in had shown up as well. “Fantastic,” A wintery chill gripped Logan’s words as he hovered by the door, there was no use in attempting to leave, he had been there and tried everything that had come to mind. There was no use in trying to poke his head through the door, when an invisible barrier would stop him each and every time. 

But it certainly wouldn’t hurt to try and listen to what these new... _ roommates _ were going to be like.

It took no time at all for the car engine to cut off, “Come on!” Almost immediately he wanted to bury his head under a mound of bricks at the bubbly cheery voice that sliced through the harsh winter wind like it was nothing. “Don’t you want to see what the new place looks like?” Just from the sounds of his footsteps alone, Logan could already picture the guy. Bouncing around with a gleeful near ecstatic look on his face as he gazed up at the house, grabbing the arms of his companions. 

“The place looks like a dump…” There wasn’t a split second of hesitation in the gloomy sour filled answer, and somehow it made Logan’s none existent nerves burn like the sidewalk of a summer day. Whatever he said next didn’t even matter to Logan, as he stood there silently fuming as he glared at the door as it had been the one to steal his life from him. “But..sure Pat, lead the way. Come on Princey, you heard him. Let’s check out this...wonderful new home of ours.” 

It was three sets of feet that clambered up the creaking steps that led to the old stain glass door that cast a shadow of vibrant oranges and yellows on the floorboards before Logan. And it still cast that same shadow as Logan thrusted his hand through the cold rusted metal of the doorknob just mere seconds before the key slotted into place and turned. His nonexistent nerves were burning, scorching all around him as his teeth ground against one another. Fury roared in his stomach, as static welled in his hand.

“How dare you trash talk my home!” The hiss of words escaped his teeth like the hissing and snapping steam from a screaming kettle, “This is my home! Not yours!” 

With an abrupt jerk and snap the knob of the door broke off with such a brittle movement that it might as well have been made from nothing but saw dust, just as it was trying to be opened on the other side. Logan couldn’t exactly feel his face, but he was absolutely certain that a smirk crawled its way onto his lips as soon as he heard the startled cry from the other side of the door. 

It was a smirk that didn’t last a second longer.

“Don’t worry about it Pat, I got it.” The voice that spoke up was different than the other two, just from his voice alone, he reminded Logan of one of those stage performers that would most often be at the center of attention taking up the star role. Perhaps it was the way that the words rolled off his tongue, or maybe it was just the way that he so gallantly as well as ruthlessly slammed his shoulder into the door making the ancient rusted hinges scream in protest. As a fine layer of dust rained down from the rafters as it happened again, and again. 

The action alone made Logan feel as if someone had just sucker punched him in the gut, leaving his lungs gasping and clawing for the air around him. It made his insides ache, as he reached out for something, anything really to keep him steady. Except there was nothing, as the door was eventually forced open and the three men who had been standing outside strolled in as if they owned the place. 

And within mere seconds, Logan felt his ghostly form go abruptly icy cold. 

His entire body went completely still as his eyes locked onto the three very different forms of the men before him. One with wild russet colored curls and a tan so dark that it faintly reminded Logan of the German chocolate he’d sometimes let melt on his tongue during the winter time. He had the dark eyes to match as well, as he dusted off his shoulders, obviously the one who had knocked in the door as his dark caramel eyes surveyed the inside of the house. Caramel eyes that passed right over Logan as if he wasn’t even there. Then again there were so very few that could actually see him nowadays. 

While the other one with deep raven black hair and stormy colored eyes, stood hunched over by the entrance. His eyes darted all over the place, like a startled rabbit that could sense the danger of a fox but couldn’t tell just where it was coming from. His grip remained ever tightened on his phone, and while he didn’t say anything his lips pulled down into a deep uncertain frown as he nudged the edge of the carpet with the tip of his sneaker. It was clear to hell and back that he didn’t like being there, even if he hadn’t said a word since entering Logan’s home. 

Although the last one..with his bright golden colored locks and holly green eyes that glinted with a look of childlike wonder, he just bounced everywhere. A look of outright amazement reflecting in those eyes as he looked at anything and everything that was in sight. 

They were all different in their own right, but even so, Logan stood there as frozen as a statue every second that he looked back at the three. 

_ One of them… _ He barely had time to humor the words that ran through his mind as he stiffly watched them walk about his home. He couldn’t even choke the words out one by one, be because he was afraid of being heard or something else.  _ One of them isn’t human… A threat..one of them is a threat!  _ All at once the instincts slammed into him like a train that had run off the tracks, the shaking of his hands, the cold terror that had swept through him the very moment they had walked into his home, and...how he felt compelled to not move a single inch from where he stood. 

One of the people before him was  **not** human, and he WANTED THEM OUT. 


End file.
